True TAIWAN Horror story

This story took place after he celebrated his 30th birthday, during a trip to China.

This time, after getting off the plane, they still had to drive for over an hour on a bumpy road to reach the village. And this time, he was accompanied by a young guy. In fact, this was his second time coming here. But unlike the first time, which was about exploration, this trip was for serious business.

As usual, he sought out the same old hunter from his first visit (not the one from the last story) to be his guide. The difference this time was that the old hunter invited him to stay the night.

The old hunter had a hunting dog. Rumor has it that every dog he raises is the first male pup from the first litter—though I’m not sure what the significance of that is. If any of you know, please enlighten me!

Me: “You don’t know this?”

Friend: “What does this have to do with what I’ve studied?”

Me: “Just Google it and you’ll find out.”

Friend: “…It’d be faster to ask you, you beast.”

---

The old hunter let my friend stay the night, and they set off the next day.

Having guided him once before, the hunter seemed to have a vague idea of what my friend was up to.

Hunter: “Little brother, are you some kind of feng shui master or something?”

Friend: “I wouldn’t dare claim that. Just a bit of a hobbyist.”

Hunter: “Alright then, take a look at my old house and tell me if there’s anything bad about it that I can fix.”

My friend noticed the old hunter was smiling as he said this, though he wasn’t sure what the man was thinking.

So, he took a quick look at the layout and, after a slight jolt of surprise, turned to the hunter with a smile.

Friend: “Hmm? Big brother, your place looks fine. No major issues here.”

This time, it was the old hunter’s turn to look puzzled, his expression turning a bit odd.

Hunter: “You sure about that?”

Friend: “Well, big brother, have you had anything bothering you lately or anything not going smoothly. From your rosy, full complexion, it seems like everything at home should be fine.”

The old hunter chuckled a few times after hearing this, though it wasn’t clear why.

Hunter: “I don’t know whether to say you’re still green at this or if you’re onto something, haha.”

Then the old hunter started singing a mountain folk song to himself. The gist of it seemed to be about the beauty of the mountains and forests, and how, after passing, one returns to the earth.

---

Me: “What’s wrong with his place?”

Friend: “At a glance, there’s stuff like a road clash, a piercing hall (sha), and a double weeping door—basic feng shui taboos.”

Me: “…That sounds like a lot of problems. How’s that ‘no issues’?”

Friend: “But this old hunter’s living just fine, happy and content. So where’s the problem?”

Me: “Uh… ( ºΔº )”

Friend: “If there’s no trouble, why stir it up? If he’s content and things are going well, then everything’s good.”

The next day, they headed up the mountain. After a few days of handling business, they naturally started their descent.

A special note: in areas where the forest vegetation is too thick, you can’t even make out the shape of the valleys at a glance. This once again highlights the importance of local guides.

The incident, as usual, happened on the way down. This time, my friend noticed an animal trailing behind them.

Friend: (Where’d this black monkey come from, following us like that?)

The black monkey kept its distance, hopping along the trees. Though it didn’t seem threatening from afar, it was strange—monkeys are social animals, so it’s unusual for one to be wandering alone.

---

Friend: “I should emphasize here that modern people probably can’t sense the malice of wild animals anymore.”

Me: “Malice? You mean like killing intent or something?”

Friend: “Exactly. It’s not like modern dogs that bark before they attack. With wild animals, their intent to strike only becomes clear the moment they do it. You might not even realize it until you’ve already been hit. Even wild herbivores can’t escape a predator’s ambush—let alone modern humans.”

Since my friend kept turning around to check on the black monkey, wondering if it was up to something, the old hunter noticed.

That night, while camping, after the young companion had fallen asleep, my friend chatted with the old hunter. Here’s a brief excerpt:

Friend: “Do you think that us humans—developing the mountains like this, not cherishing them—might anger the mountain spirits or something?”

Hunter: “You’re asking me? I don’t think the mountains get angry.”

Friend: “Oh? Why’s that?”

Hunter: “The mountains nurture all things and embrace us. I’d say they don’t get mad.”

Friend: “No retribution or anything?”

Hunter: “Retribution’s been there all along. It’s just that humans are shortsighted and greedy. The mountains’ retribution affects our descendants—it’s the kind that cuts off the line.”

Friend: “…”

Hunter: “The mountains are very forgiving, young man. The question is, how long can they keep forgiving us? And how much damage to the mountains will it take before it’s beyond repair?”

Hunter: “Enough of that. Tell me, young man, what did you keep looking back at while we were coming down?”

Friend: “A black monkey that kept following us.”

Hunter: “Is that so? A black monkey, huh? That’s what you saw? …Let me ask you this, then: if the mountains give birth to spirits, do you think they’d all be the same? Would they have siblings?”

Friend: “Uh, my opinion? I’ve never seen one myself, but I’d say no. Each one’s unique. We just lump them together under one name.”

Hunter: “Is that so? Good, good… In that case, you’d understand that living alone in a vast, sprawling place, with no one else around, can be a very lonely thing.”

As he said this, the old hunter slowly dipped his thumbs into the leftover ash from the campfire.

Hunter: “So, lonely people—or things—will seek out those who can see them, who can connect with them, even if those others never try to understand them.”

Then the old hunter pressed his hands to my friend’s face, smeared the ash from his thumbs over my friend’s eyes and said:

Hunter: “You just happened to be seen by it in its loneliness. Being seen isn’t a big deal, but constantly looking back—whether at wild animals or whatever—isn’t good.”

Then the old hunter closed his eyes and softly sang a song. After a minute or two, he finished and urged my friend to sleep.

For the next few days until they reached the bottom of the mountain, the old hunter would smear ash on his eyes every night. Whether the black monkey stopped following them or the ash worked, my friend didn’t see it again.

By the time they reached the village, it was already dusk.

Famished, my friend and the young companion planned to grab some food, while the old hunter parted ways with them there.

My friend said he’d probably never forget the sight of the old hunter and his dog walking off into the sunset, their long shadows stretching behind them as he sang a mountain tune.

Nor would he forget how, at the dinner table, the villagers told them it had been a long time since anyone had seen monkeys in the forest.